Chasing Shadows
by Red Lioness
Summary: The long-awaited (ha!) sequel to 'Female of the Species' with the continuing adventures of the TMNT, the Hawaiian Turtles, and the meta-human Maggie. Rated 'M' for violence.


**My Brothers' Keeper**

"Please, no! You musn't do this! They're only children!" Sister Consuela pleaded. The armed man slammed his rifle butt into the nun's stomach.

"We know they are children, Sister. That is why we want them."

Screams erupted from within the old building as armed thugs invaded the orphanage. Young girls were pried from the arms of the Brides of Christ and corralled in front of the altar. The nuns that tried to protect the girls were brutally beaten. Most didn't try; the orphanage had been raided for girls for the sex trade before. The children clung to each other and cried, cowering low as a well-dressed man looked them over.

"Now, now, my little chickens, you are going to be quiet and do as you're told. If not . . . well, Hell is going to have no surprises for you." One little girl clutched the crucifix that hung around her neck and began to pray aloud. The man in the suit chuckled. "It is no use praying, chicken. The place you are going is so dark, no angels will find you."

"Diego." The man in the suit, presumably Diego, looked around. The other men were staring at a figure in the vestibule. At first Diego thought the woman was dressed all in green, but then he realized it was her skin that was green. Her long black hair obscured most of her face, but one pale blue eye took in the scene calmly. She was clutching a blanket around her shoulders as if she had just gotten out of bed. She had a clean white bandage on her right hand.

"What the fuck is it?" Diego muttered.

"It's the green lady Sister Assunta found in the grain shipment. Please help us, Green Lady!" An older girl pleaded. The woman turned to look at the girl with a blank expression.

"I don't think your 'Green Lady' speaks Spanish, chicken," Diego said with a grin. "Take her with us; who knows what kind of novelty she could be." The man nearest the green skinned woman cocked his rifle and moved towards her.

Screams erupted from the orphanage again. This time they were deep and male.

"Wow, look at the birds! Are they seagulls?" Michelangelo asked, squinting out of the window. Makai moved up from the back of the Battleshell to look over her _ipo's_ shoulder. The view showed a huge flock of white birds bobbing up and down gently in the ocean swells.

"I think they're pelicans, Mikey," she said.

"Wow, look at all the pelicans!" Mikey declared, not deterred in the least. Makai smiled affectionately. Mikey was so sweet and happy; so full of boyish wonder and innocence. Makai shifted from leaning against Mike's seat to sitting on his knee.

"Makai, find your own seat," came a stern voice from the back. Makai rolled her eyes dramatically. Lately it seemed that every time she and Michelangelo got close, Master Splinter would magically appear to split them up. For all that the rat seemed to ignore their displays of affection at first, now he appeared out of thin air every time they went beyond a chaste kiss. He had even insisted on accompanying them on their search for Raphael. Makai heaved a frustrated sigh and sat in the seat behind Michelangelo's. After a moment, his large green hand snuck around the side of the high-backed seat and folded over Makai's smaller, white-skinned hand.

Donatello watched this out of the corner of his eye. He was mostly focused on the road. He was driving while Michelangelo rubbernecked out of the passengers' seat. Makai now sat in the row behind them and Leonardo, Pele, and Master Splinter kept to the back. Even though the tinted windows kept anyone outside from seeing in, the three in the back preferred the comfortable security of the shadows. It was Donnie's expertise that had tracked down the server that had sent Raphael's alligator e-mail; it had originated somewhere in central Florida. The small group made it all the way through central Florida and was now down near the tip. They would stop every so often and try to contact Raphael on the Shell Cell, but so far he had always been out of range.

Donatello wasn't the only one watching Michelangelo and Makai hold hands. Pele watched quietly from her seat between Master Splinter and Leonardo. _She_ knew why Master Splinter was cracking down on the young couple; she was amazed Makai and Mikey didn't. It all had to do with the night Raph disappeared. Mikey and Makai had been alone together nearly all night. Pele had known something was up the next day and her big little sister had finally confessed in giggling whispers that she and Mikey had gone . . . well, not **all** the way, but very close to it. Now why in the world Makai expected Master Splinter to stay ignorant of her and Mikey's little dalliance when Pele had spotted it instantly was beyond her. Well, Makai could go ahead and get herself into trouble all she wanted; Pele and Leo were taking things slower. With a smug smile, Pele reached for Leonardo's hand. Leo looked over at her, a bit startled, then shot a look at Master Splinter. He finally returned her smile, but there wasn't much life in it. Leo was far too worried about what kind of mess Raphael had gotten into this time. Things stayed quiet until Donatello started to slow down the Battle Shell. They were parked on a long bridge going out over the ocean, traffic crowded close around them.

"Guys, I think we may have hit the end of the line," Donnie stated. Leo started, as if drawn out of a daydream, then leaned over to look over Donatello's shoulder.

"What do you mean this is the end of the line? Did we run out of gas?"

"No, we ran out of country," Don quipped. "The next place to stop is Key West; it's the southernmost point in Florida.

"Key West! That's awesome!" Mikey exclaimed with excitement. "But why is there so much traffic?"

"Some of the cars have signs in the windows saying 'Fantasy Fest," Leo observed.

"Fantasy Fest! I know what that is!" Everyone gave him a dubious look. "What! I do! They had it in the episode of Insomniac where Dave Attel went to Key West. Now how did he describe it? Oh yeah: it's part Mardi Gras, part Roman orgy and part some naked fat guy rubbing against your leg." Makai and Don burst out laughing.

"That's what he said!" Mikey protested.

"So, there's going to be humans in costume out there?" Makai mused, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe we can--."

"No!" Master Splinter said sharply. "Once we reach Key West, we will wait for dark, find a place to get more fuel, then head back home. Raphael may have already returned."

"But, can't we just--." Don started.

"No!"

"Just for a little bit!" Mikey pleaded.

"No!"

"Can we go swimming?" Pele asked.

"N—swimming?"

"Yeah, it's been so long since I've been swimming in a real ocean." Splinter appeared to think this over.

"I think that would be all right. If we can find a secluded place, you may swim after dark."

"Yayy!" Pele cried.

Under the cover of night, the five teens quickly shed their weapons and gear and ran into the warmth of the ocean waves.

"Oh my God, it's like bathwater!" Mikey marveled. All of his seaside excursions had been in the chilly waters of the North Atlantic.

"Come on, Leo; swim with me!" Pele's attitude had changed from her usual frosty cool exterior to that of a delighted child. The thought of swimming fast and free in a suitable replica of her native ocean had brought her happiness like no one had seen. Leo chuckled, allowing himself to be dragged out into the waves. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mikey in a similar predicament with Makai. Leo could hear Donnie entering the water behind them.

All of his attention was taken up by Pele. The last time he had seen her so happy was the night before Mama Kai and Uncle Tanaka had come to visit. Here she was grinning from tympanum to tympanum and laughing delightedly, just wanting to play with him. Leo wanted to play with her, too. Together they rolled under the waves. Pele's grip on Leo's hands tightened suddenly. He felt like he had just grabbed onto a submarine. The small female turtle dragged him along effortlessly, finally bringing him back to the surface almost thirty yards from shore. Leo gasped for air as he surfaced.

"How did you do that?" He asked, surprised at her strength.

"Hello? Sea turtle?" Pele teased. She leaned in close to him, her beak mere inches from his, then threw all of her weight onto Leo's shoulders. The young leader was mercilessly dunked. Pele tried to dart away, but Leonardo clamped onto her ankle and dragged her back into his arms.

"You little sneak!" He cried. Pele spit a mouthful of water into his face. Leo cried out again and held her tighter. They were both giggling and laughing away until they realized something. Leonardo was holding Pele tightly in his arms, their plastrons pressed together. Their manner stilled. A dreamy look in her eyes, Pele leaned forward, anticipating a kiss. Leo hesitated.

"Master Splinter's here," he protested.

"He can't see us in the dark," Pele murmured.

"I can still hear you," came a voice from the shore. Leo blushed and loosened his grip on the small female. Pele threw a dirty look in Master Splinter's direction.

"Oh yeah? Can you hear anybody else?" She challenged. There was a moment of awkward silence as all three listened intently. There wasn't a sound but the water lapping against the shore. The rat muttered something under his breath.

"Where did everybody go?" Leo asked.

"Duh!" Pele swiveled around to face the direction of the nearest dock, festooned with lights and partying, drunk humans. "To the party! Where else!"

On the other side of the brightly decorated dock, Donatello climbed up one of the pilings as quietly as possible. He emerged wet and dripping on the top of the dock. The first thing he saw was a woman's bare back, decorated with an impressive phoenix tattoo. She was only an inch or two taller than him and had pale, milky white skin, aside from where it was tattooed. Her jet-black hair set off her pale skin. Well, it was time to test his theory.

"Hey," Donatello called out. "Nice tattoo." The woman turned around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. Don's eyes widened as well. The woman wasn't wearing anything above the waist aside from colorful paint and Mardi Gras beads. The woman gasped out loud.

"That's an awesome costume!" She cried, pointing with the exaggeration of one deep in their cups. "What's your name?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . it's D-don," he finally managed.

"Hey, my name's Dawn, too!" she cried. She thrust a gigantic bright pink cup into his hand. "You should come drink with us, Don!"

"Uh, okay," Don said with a smile. "Who's 'us'?"

"My friends! Hey guys! Come check out his costume!" Dawn cried. A group of four women approached them. There was a blond, a redhead, and two brunettes, one with pale skin and one with a dark olive complexion. Not a one of them was wearing a top, just brightly colored airbrushed designs. They all gasped in amazement at Donatello's 'costume'.

"He's gonna come drinking with us!" Dawn announced. "His name's Don, too!" This produced a round of laughter.

"We'll call you 'Green Don'," the redhead announced. "We've already got Black Dawn and Brown Dawn." Dawn, who was hanging on Donnie's arm by now, and the brunette with the dark complexion laughed.

"That's us!" They agreed in unison.

"And this is Theresa," the blond said, pointing to the other brunette, "And this is Penny," this time she indicated the redhead. "And I'm Daisy!"

"Nice to meet you . . . . uh . . . a lot of 'D's," Don observed lamely. Luckily, the group was drunk enough to find this hysterical.

"You're cute!" Theresa announced with a predatory grin on her face.

"You're gonna be our 'special friend' for the night!" Penny added. A tiny worm of uncertainty squirmed within Donatello. Before he could act on it, Black Dawn threw her arm around his neck and forced the bright pink cup to his lips.

"You're not drinkin' enough!"

A few blocks away, a big fat guy wearing a pink bunny suit peeled off his giant rabbit head and wiped the sweat from his brow. The bunny suit was a big hit, but why on earth had he decided to wear fake fur in Key West? He was going to sweat to death.

"Oh, Mikey," a breathy whisper caught his ear. Pink Bunny man looked over his shoulder. There was a couple entwined on a park bench under the trees. Pink Bunny man stared for a minute then shook his head in disbelief. They had to have spent several thousand dollars a piece on those costumes, and had traveled all the way from wherever the hell for a night of drunken debauchery at Fantasy Fest, only to spend the time making out on a park bench. Pink Bunny man looked into the giant bright green cup that held most of a hurricane. As much as he'd like to drink it, he really needed to teach these kids a thing or two. He pried off the top and upended it over the couple in the turtle costumes. The two kids spluttered in dismay.

"Dude, what's your problem?" The boy demanded.

"My problem is that you two kids are wasting the night! Go out, drink, do something you'll regret in the morning! Trust me, you'll feel much better if you do!" The man in the bunny suit told them firmly. Mikey and Makai exchanged a glance.

"Well, maybe you're right," Makai said with a smile.

"Yeah. Thank you, Pink Bunny Man!" Mikey cried dramatically. The human quickly got into the act, slinging his rabbit head back on and striking a dynamic pose.

"I must go now and spread the wisdom of the Pink Bunny to others in need!" Mike and Makai laughed as the pink-clad human waddled away.

"I think we should listen to the wisdom of the rabbit," Makai said, grinning. "Come on, let's go dancing!"

"Sister Assunta, I feel very strongly that this is a bad idea. This 'Green Lady' of yours is dangerous, plain and simple!"

"B-but Mother Superior, she saved us from the slave traders! She saved all of the children! I know she looks strange, but--."

"Her looks I can tolerate! It is the effortless way that she killed those men that worries me! She must leave!"

"But she hasn't harmed a single one of the children! Look, please, she is fine!" Sister Assunta gestured out of a window to the courtyard. The green woman was sitting under a tree with a small group of girls. She was watching two small girls play a singing and clapping game, while another child wove daisies into her jet-black hair. A tiny girl, little more than a toddler, was curled up in her lap.

"You allowed her alone with the children!" Mother Superior demanded. The older nun didn't wait for answer, merely turned and ran into the courtyard as quickly as age would allow.

"They're not alone! Sister Consuela is with them!" Assunta protested, following her superior. The aforementioned Consuela was present, as the other end of the courtyard. There were about a dozen children playing. Aside from the two girls touching the strange green lady, the children would pause in their playing every so often to simply stare at the stranger or to show her a particular toy or trick. The woman simply watched everything that was going on, nodding or smiling as she thought appropriate. She had yet to speak and gave no indication that she understood Spanish.

"You see, Mother Superior? She wouldn't harm the children for the world." Sister Assunta said with a hopeful smile.

"I have seen much in this world," Mother Superior stated calmly. "But I have yet to see a lion lie down with a lamb. This 'Green Lady' must--."

"Magdalena!" The girl with the hair fixation corrected. The two nuns paused.

"What, child?"

"Her name is Magdalena. We decided." The girl said. "We've heard stories about those bad men; they say they're so bad no angels can harm them. Well this time, God didn't send an angel," the girl turned to the turtle woman and patted her head gently. "This time he tamed a demon and sent her instead. Mary Magdalene was a prostitute before she met Our Lord. So Magdalena is a good name for this lady." The girl leaned down until she could look into the stranger's pale blue eyes. "Mag-da-len-na."

"Magdalena?" The stranger echoed.

"That's right!" The girl squealed, excited to have pried the first words from the stranger's mouth. "Your name is Magdalena now!"

Leonardo sprang up from where he had been guarding the Battle Shell. It had not been a pleasant night. Master Splinter had been **furious**; ordering Leo and Pele out of the water and keeping close watch on them while they waited for the others to return. Splinter had considered going after them, but the crowds of drunken partiers set the rat on edge. They would wait until the festivities ended before seeking out their missing brothers and sister. Dawn was just breaking, but the party showed no signs of slowing down. Now, a figure approached the converted armored car. Leo eased his katana out of their sheaths and crouched low.

"Chill out, it's me," Came a familiar voice. Leo straightened.

"Donnie? Where the shell have you been! Sensei's furious! What did . . . you . . . think . . ." Leo trailed off as he got a look at his younger brother. Donatello had skipped out on Leo, Pele and Splinter while he was swimming. He had been without his gear and weapons; in effect, completely naked. He wasn't naked now.

Beads of every size, shape, color and hue adorned Donatello's well-muscled limbs like offerings on the graven image of some Pagan god. They hung around his neck in such abundance the upper plates of his plastron were barely visible. Likewise, they were looped around his wrists all the way to his elbows, and his ankles half-way up to his calves. A few broken strands had been tied around his biceps and thighs for good measure. In and among the beads were the sort of cheap toys and trinkets given away at such festivities; noisemakers, cup-and-ball games, feely-bopper rings and tiny stuffed animals. All in all it gave the effect of a very poorly thought out set of armor designed by a deranged magpie.

"Donatello?" Leo said weakly.

"No, it's Boticelli. Ha!" Donnie cried, heading towards the Battle Shell. He was weaving back and forth like the beach was under full sail.

"You're drunk." Pele announced, a sort of horrified delight in her eyes.

"No, you think? Somebody give Sherlock a cookie!" Pele started laughing. Donatello suddenly stopped and turned back to the small female. "No, wait! I got somthin' for you." He rummaged around in the beads around his neck until he located a small stuffed sea turtle toy in impossible shades of yellow, green, and purple. "Here; girls like stuffed aminals, so I kept this for you."

"Stuffed 'aminals?'" Leo echoed in horror. Pele was biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"Thank you, Donnie. You're going to die now," she informed him casually. Donnie blinked, then followed her gaze. Master Splinter was standing behind him.

"Don. A. Tello." The rat growled. Don dropped the sea turtle, the toy instantly forgotten, and dropped to his knees before his mentor.

"Hi, Sensei!" He called cheerfully. "Guess how many boobs I saw tonight!" Splinter glared down his nose at his son. The old rat seemed to inflate with anger. Donatello, in his inebriated state, misunderstood Splinter's silence.

"Twenty-three!" He declared, holding up four fingers. A crack echoed across the water. Donnie rubbed his head where Master Splinter had hit him with the walking stick.

"Owww . . . ."

"How dare you come before me in such a state! It was bad enough that snuck away to this festival against my orders, but now you have the gall to return as drunk as a sailor and boasting about the number of human women you saw topless! How dare you! And where is your brother!" Splinter cried.

"How the hell should I know?" Don returned, still rubbing his head. "It's not like you would have believed any excuse I could have told you about where I was and I came back when I started feeling drowsy so I wouldn't pass out around any humans. I thought I handled it quite well."

"You still ran off to go drinking and dancing and . . and. . . hanging around unscrupulous women! I'm surprised at you, Donatello!"

"Oh yeah, God forbid _Donnie_ should sneak off for something fun! _Donnie'd_ never try anything like partying! _Donnie_ wouldn't want to look at naked women; he's got no sexuality whatsoever! He's too boring! He's the nerd! He's the crappy fighter!" Donatello lurched to his feet, staggering back a few steps so he could properly yell. "Well, maybe I **would** like drinking and sex and partying! What's wrong with getting stewed, screwed, and tattooed!" Don paused, then inspected his arms and legs closely. "I'm going back! I need to get a tattoo!" He declared. Leo grabbed his little brother and spun him back towards the Battle Shell.

"No, Donnie! Stay here!" Donatello threw his arms out.

"No, don't--! Okay, I have to throw up now." Don staggered away, smacked roughly against a tree trunk and emptied the contents of his stomach into the bushes. Donnie's vision swam as his eyes teared up and nostrils clogged. A shockingly cool hand against his head made him jump.

"Pele?"

"Careful; you're gonna puke on your beads," the brightly colored turtle told him, sweeping Donatello's hard-won trinkets out of the line of fire. "Come on, stay leaned over; that will get it all out now." Don blinked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. Pele sighed, putting her other hand on the back of his head and leaning him over. "I hate to tell you this, but you know alcohol kills off a ton of brain cells."

"I'm just **ugh** picking off the sick and the weak," Donnie retorted. Pele laughed. Don looked at her. She looked different. He wasn't quite sure how, but she looked . . . . softer, more caring . . . . more mature. Or maybe he was just really drunk.

"By the way, you yelling back at Splinter was awesome," Pele whispered to him. "I think you should make a habit of standing up for yourself. Don grinned.

"You're cute," he told her, pinching her cheek.

"So're you," Pele retorted, pinching his cheek in return. "Now come on; are you sure you don't have to throw up anymore?"

"I'm sure."

"Let's just make sure." Pele kneed him in the gut as hard as she could. Sure enough, there **was** more alcohol to get out of Don's system. Leo watched his girlfriend's example of tough love warily. Master Splinter was gripping his walking stick so tightly Leo thought the rat would snap it in two.

"Pele, leave Donatello be. He deserves to be in the state he's in." Splinter snapped. Pele gave Master Splinter a hard look.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. Donnie's drunk, Master Splinter. Any berating you do isn't going to sink in now. Now he needs to be taken care of. I'll take care of him. You can scream at him when he's sobered up," Pele said firmly.

"Heeheehee, Pele, I can see up your shell," Donnie announced from his hunched over position. Pele's cheeks turned crimson. She kicked Don in the head roughly, sending the inebriated turtle tumbling like a house of cards. Straining to maintain her dignity, she grabbed one of Donatello's ankles and, with great difficultly, started to drag him towards the Battle Shell.

Michelangelo woke up slowly, as if he wasn't sure it was worth the trouble. This instinct was probably correct. His head was pounding so hard he wanted to cry and it tasted like someone had gone to the bathroom in his mouth.

"So this is a hangover," Mikey rasped, rubbing his head. "I always wondered." He moved gingerly on the rickety bed, noting Makai was curled up next to him. Mikey didn't recognize the room they were in; it looked like a converted attic bedroom. The last thing he remembered was following Makai into a sea of partying humans at Carnivale or Mardi Gras, or whatever Key West called thier version of it. There were people in costumes, partying in the streets and lots and lots of drinking. He'd had some beers and was all right, but everything turned into a blur after a round of pink drinks called 'hurricanes'.

Mikey set his feet on the floor, knocking over an empty beer bottle. He whimpered as the sound echoed through his throbbing skull like someone dropping a bowling ball through a plate glass window. Makai stirred, rolled over and crashed to the ground. Mikey clutched his head.

"Not so loud," he pleaded. A groan from the sea turtle assured Mike that he wasn't alone in his misery.

"Where are we?" Makai asked, picking herself up off of the floor.

"No idea," Mike answered, still rubbing his head.

"Is that a bathroom?" Makai asked, pointing to a door. Without waiting for an answer, she staggered over to it and peered inside. "Oh, thank god!" She cried, leaping inside.

"Not so loud," Mikey repeated. Leo was going to kill the both of them. They had come to Florida to look for Raph. Leo hadn't even wanted to take the chance of mingling with the costumed humans in the street festival and here Mikey and Makai had run off on a bender.

The sound of a toilet flushing sounded like Niagra falls.

"Too bad I don't have a katana," Mikey groaned. "I think I'd like to cut my head off." Makai left the bathroom, picking her way through empty bottles, cheap plastic festival trinkets and the assorted boxes common to 'junk rooms' everywhere.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" Mikey asked, heading for the bathroom.

"I remember drinking a lot," Makai said, looking around the room.

"That's helpful," Michelangelo muttered, closing the door behind him. Makai looked around the cluttered room. Aside from the empty bottles and festival detritus, everything was covered in dust and spider webs; it was obvious this room hadn't been used in a long time. That was comforting; this way some random humans hadn't just happened upon them while they were sleeping it off. Makai's bloodshot eyes fell on the one thing that wasn't covered in dust. It was a little basket filled with goodies. There was a bottle of champagne, two glasses, some condoms, a pair of padded handcuffs, a white thong with a little veil coming off of the back and a white cardboard envelope. Makai crouched down next to it, studying it carefully, then picked up the white envelope. There was a pattern of bells embossed on the front in gold. Inside was a single sheet of paper. Makai read it. Then she read it again. She read it once more, just on the off chance she was hallucinating. She sat down hard on her tail.

"Mikey!" She yelled, ignoring the pain in her head. "We did something bad last night!" There was a groan from the bathroom.

"'Bad' like you're pregnant or 'bad' like we killed somebody?" Mike asked, appearing in the doorway. Makai stared at him with wide brown eyes.

"We got married." For a minute, all Michelangelo could do was stare at her.

"What? What are you talking about?" Makai thrust the piece of paper at him.

"This is a marriage license! _Our_ marriage license! It says we got married last night!"

"What!" Mikey grabbed the paper out of her hand and began to read it out loud. "I, Secretary General of the Conch Republic, do hereby certify that on the 17th of July, Michelangelo Hamato (groom) and Makai Pa'iniu (bride) were united in marriage. Signed, the Honorable Sir Patrick Waterson, Secretary General of the Conch Republic."

"It's witnessed and everything! Oh my God, Master Splinter is going to kill us! And Pele! Oh god, and Uncle Tanaka!" Hangover forgotten, Makai clenched her hands in her hair in distress. Mikey studied the piece of paper in his hands. He had seen a marriage license once before; he had fished it out of the sewer when he was a kid and Master Splinter needed old paper to press to make their schoolwork. It had been printed up on a big, elaborate design with the names and dates typed in. This one wasn't like that; the whole thing was typed on stationary. The stationary bore an emblem at the top of a sun with a conch shell inside of it and stars surrounding it. Below the emblem were the words: 'We Seceded Where Others Failed'. Didn't they mean 'succeeded'? At the very bottom of the paper were the words: 'The Mitigation of World Tension Through the Exercise of Humor'.

"Where's the Conch Republic?" Michelangelo asked.

"What?"

"This doesn't say anything about the U.S. it's signed by the Secretary General of the Conch Republic. Where's the Conch Republic?"

"I-I don't know." The door opened suddenly, causing the young newlyweds to jump. There was an older human man in the doorway. His graying hair was pulled back into a ponytail, while a scruffy gray beard obscured most of his face. A pair of bright blue eyes peered out from under eyebrows like a furry headband. He had on an old pair of ratty khaki shorts and a tie-dyed tank top. His skin was the deep burnished tan of someone who spent a lot of time in the Florida sun.

"Crap on a crap cracker!" He declared in a raspy growl. "I thought you two were an acid flashback!" Mikey and Makai exchanged a look. "I hate to interrupt your honeymoon, but there's bagels and English muffins downstairs if you want some."

"Uh . . . . . thanks," Michelangelo said hesitantly. "Who are you again?" The human man laughed.

"Partying a little too hard, huh? I'm Patrick Waterson," he reached forward and shook Mikey's hand warmly. "Secretary General of the Conch Republic."

"See, it all started in 1982. The U.S., in an effort to stop Cuban immigrants from landing in the Florida Keys and driving into the country, road blocked the Florida Keys. American citizens were cut off from the rest of the country. Anyone wanting to drive to or from the Keys was forced to prove their American citizenship to be allowed onto the mainland. The people of the Keys protested, and the mayor of Key West even went to the Florida state senate to plead for a little relief, but no one was interested in helping. So the mayor declared to the media that Key West would secede from the United States the next day at noon. The next day, we did just that. In Mallory Square, the Mayor read the proclamation of secession, and began the Conch Republic's Civil Rebellion by breaking a loaf of stale Cuban bread over the head of a guy dressed in a Navy Uniform. The rebellion lasted a full minute, after which the Mayor . . . or rather, the Prime Minister, surrendered to the Admiral in charge of the Naval base at Key West. Then he demanded one billion dollars in foreign aide to rebuild the country after the 'long siege'."

"Oh Gawwwd," Mikey groaned, putting his hand over his face. "'We seceded where others failed.' I guess I should have known. What kind of country has a pun for a motto?" Mikey and Makai were sitting downstairs with Mr. Waterson and two other humans; a man in his thirties named Tim and a woman Mr. Waterson's age named Carol. After choking down the woman's sure-fire hangover cure, the small group was having breakfast.

"Well, if the story had ended there, it would have just been a funny story to tell the schoolchildren. But you see, since the United States government never took the secession seriously, they never did anything about it, even though the Conch Republic officially seceded, declared war, and surrendered. By International Law, this is enough to prove sovereignty. Technically, the Conch Republic is an independent country. The area encompasses all of the Florida Keys, with Key West as the capital. We thought it was such a funny story that we started declaring people citizens and making Conch Republic passports. Those passports have been accepted by over thirty-three foreign countries."

"You two may not remember, but you heard this story last night. She," Mr. Waterson pointed to Makai. "Said you two should apply for citizenship and passports because it would be nice to officially exist somewhere. And you," now the grizzled human pointed to Mikey. "Said that maybe while you were getting official things done, you two should get married. So Carol typed up the license and I married you two in the front room. Congrats, by the way. Your passports are ready, too." Tim came forward with two blue passports. Mikey flipped his open and took a look at the sloppy drunk picture of himself.

"Master Splinter's going to kill me," he said quietly.

Leonardo darted back to the safety of the BattleShell, his hands full of juice boxes and breakfast sandwiches. He vaulted inside gracefully. Pele pulled the door shut behind him.

"I scouted around about a three mile radius. There's still no sign of them." Splinter sighed. In the past few hours, he had gone from angry to furious to worried.

"Well, I wouldn't worry; maybe they're still sleeping it off somewhere," Pele suggested, taking a sandwich and some juice. Leo grunted noncommittally. Master Splinter simply sighed again. In the back, Donatello snored loudly. It was Pele's turn to sigh. This was not turning out to be a fun trip.

Leo's Shell Cell suddenly buzzed. Leo answered it hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"Hey Leo," Mikey said sheepishly.

"Mikey, where the hell are you!" Leo demanded, not even bothering to use the substitute swear 'shell' that Master Splinter preferred.

"I'm um . . . I'm safe. So's Makai."

"I didn't ask if you were safe, I asked where you were," Leonardo said sternly. There was a long pause on the other end.

"L-leo, we did something bad," Mikey whispered. "Sensei is going to kill me."

"Mikey, Sensei's going to kill you anyway," Leo reported. Splinter nodded his affirmation.

"No, seriously, Leo. He's going to kick my ass. Literally. Could you just, like, make sure he doesn't kill me? 'Cause I have to look after Makai now." The turtle in blue hesitated. Mikey sounded scared; like, _really_ scared. And he was asking for protection from his own father?

"Mikey? What did you do?"

"It's a really long story, Leo. You just need to come here and see." Michelangelo gave directions.

"Okay. We'll be there in a few minutes. Don't worry, Mikey."

Makai fled up to the upstairs bathroom while Michelangelo called Leo. She turned the shower on and climbed inside, letting the water soak through her hair and wash away the leftover icky feeling from the night before. Now all that was left was the stomach churning fear and shame that came from knowing she might have endangered all of their lives. Makai leaned her head against the shower wall. How could she have thought it was a good idea to have their existence documented? The kinda-sorta legal marriage notwithstanding, she and Mikey had had their pictures taken, their names and places of birth marked down and stuck away in a computer somewhere as citizens of a country that was only a state of mind. Everyone was going to kill her. She was surprised Mikey hadn't wanted to kill her.

The sound of the shower curtain being pulled back made Makai jump. Her look of shock didn't lessen as Michelangelo stepped into the shower with her.

"Mikey!" True, they always walked around naked or nearly so; it shouldn't have made any difference that he joined her in the shower . . . but still. Mike smiled at her a bit sadly, then leaned forward and let the water run over his head and neck.

"Mikey?" Makai repeated softly. Why did he look sad? Was he disappointed in her? Michelangelo still didn't answer, simply rubbed his hands over his face. Makai felt a lump rising in her throat. Was he here because he wanted to yell at her in private? Why didn't he answer? Mike finally looked at Makai and sighed.

"Are you mad at me, baby?" He asked.

"What? Why would I be mad at you? You aren't the one who exposed our existence to the whole world! Aren't you mad at me?" Makai blurted.

"No, I'm not. I don't think these guys will expose us. But—it was my idea to get married. I thought maybe, y'know, you weren't ready yet or were upset with me or something." Mikey said softly.

"Well . . . Mikey, I don't think the marriage really . . . counts. I mean, these are just some guys who run a fake country in their spare time." Makai said, surprised that he had brought it up. Mikey looked at her like she had slapped him. Then his brown eyes grew a shade darker and he looked down at his feet.

"It counts to me," he said shortly. Makai blinked. She hadn't meant to—oh god, **now** he was mad at her for sure! "Y-y'know, I-if you just aren't ready to like, consummate the union or whatever, that's fine! I can wait!" Mikey sniffed. Makai's jaw dropped. He wasn't mad; he was trying not to cry! Ever the soft heart, Makai felt tears instantly spring to her own eyes.

"Oh Mikey, please don't cry!" She pleaded. "I didn't mean it like that! You know I love you! Know that someday soon, I'll be honored to be your bride!"

"But?" Mikey prompted.

"But . . . . . . when we do get properly married . . . I don't want it to be an accident. I want to actually remember the ceremony." Makai said softly.

"We could ask Mr. Waterson to do another one," Mikey suggested hopefully. Makai looked at her feet.

"Mikey . . . . . no. This isn't just some fun role-playing game. This is serious. This is forever. And I want . . . I want romance and sacrifice and high drama. I want to know that I'm what you really want for the rest of your life, not just that I'm good enough because I'm the same species. I'm not saying 'Not ever'. Just 'Not now.' Do you understand, _ipo_?" Michelangelo swallowed heavily.

"Yeah. I understand, sweetheart." Downstairs, the sound of a door closing reached them through the splash of the water.

"Looks like the others are here. We'd better go and meet them."

Mikey walked slowly down the stairs, Makai at his heels. Master Splinter, Leonardo, Donatello, and Pele stood with the three humans Mikey and Makai had befriended. Donnie was swaying slightly while he studied the articles posted on the walls with great interest, Leo and Pele were standing by warily, and Master Splinter looked ready to take his wayward son apart with his bare hands.

"Michelangelo! These people tell me you had your existence documented! AND that you were married last night!" Splinter roared. Mikey was curiously subdued. He looked over at Leo briefly, then knelt before his father.

"That's right, sensei. We're citizens of the Conch Republic and we were married last night. It was all my idea," Mikey said quietly. He looked over at Leo again. The look in his eyes wasn't pleading, just resigned and slightly scared.

"What!"

"I'm sorry, sensei," Mikey murmured. Splinter slapped him across the face.

"You have endangered us all! We will all have to pay the price for your carelessness! Raphael doesn't even know of this, but he could be in danger now as well!" Splinter drew his hand back again.

"No!" Makai threw herself in front of Michelangelo. "Don't hit my Mikey! It was my idea to get documented! Don't hit him!"

"Makai . . . ." Splinter growled. Makai plastered herself over Michelangelo, clearly intending to shield him from the blows.

"Don't hurt my Mikey!"

"Makai, get out of the way!" Mike cried, trying to pry her off and out of danger.

"Makai!" Splinter raised his hand again.

"Don't you _dare_ hit Makai!" Michelangelo bellowed, his voice startlingly deep and threatening. Splinter hesitated. A green hand clamped onto his wrist.

"Leonardo?" The rat gasped. Leo's face was drawn and hard. He clearly didn't like what he was doing, but knew it had to be done. And he was the one who had to do it.

"Sensei, don't! It's not worth it. Just . . . just calm down. It's not worth this." Splinter glared at Leonardo for a moment, then blinked as if waking from a strange dream. The rat looked back at Michelangelo and Makai as if he'd never seen them before.

"Leonardo . . . . I-yes, I am sorry. Now is not the time."

"Yes, sensei. When we get back home maybe—Put that down!" Leo cried. Behind Splinter, Mr. Waterson lowered the ketchup bottle from 'blunt object' position, trying to look innocent.

"Well—it's not as bad as all that. You don't have to hit the kids," he said sharply. "It's just us that knows and we're not going to blab about it if that's not what you want. But, you know, if things ever do get to the point where you're really exposed to the world . . . it might be a good idea to belong to somewhere. . . even if it is just the Conch Republic."

"Be that as it may, it hasn't happened yet and until it does, I've no intention of allying myself with an imaginary country," Splinter stated.

"After the fact might be a little too late," Mr. Waterson said. Carol came running back into the room. She had stepped out for Mikey's punishment, but seemed to have forgotten all about it.

"I know you said you were looking for your brother! Are you missing a sister, too?"

A priest was about to die. Father Antonio scrambled along the darkened alleyways, the stutter of gunfire echoing behind him. This did not worry the priest. It was the way the gunfire cut off so sharply, punctuated here and there by a scream. There were police here, somewhere. He had heard the sirens from inside the warehouse. They would protect him; that was their job. And certainly no one would believe the real reason he was here. He could simply say that he'd been ministering to the poor or something and had been caught in the crossfire. The police would believe that; they'd **want** to believe it. They certainly wouldn't want to believe that it was him who had organized all those raids on the orphanages. They wouldn't want to believe Father Antonio was the one responsible for selling all those girls into slavery. If it hadn't been for that-that-that _demon_, no one would ever have known. For a common beast, she was very displeased with a servant of God. His contact on the police force had said that hardened veterans had lost their lunch when they'd found the Mother Superior's body. And that woman had only allowed herself to be bought off.

Father Antonio leaned against a wall, trying to peer around a corner. It was so quiet; he could swear anyone near him would be able to hear his heart pounding. It was quiet. It was far too quiet, he realized in horror. There were no more sounds of fighting from the warehouse. If the men from the cartel had won, they would have been cheering their victory. The silence meant that Magdalena had won. Father Antonio peered around the corner with dread. He almost laughed with relief when he saw the red and blue flashing lights of the police cruisers. He was going to make it! He was going to survive this night! He was going—Father Antonio's blood suddenly ran ice-cold. With glacial slowness, he turned around. A shadow detached itself from the greater shadows and moved towards him. A shadow that stank of blood. A shadow with pale, ice-blue eyes. Teeth flashed as the creature grinned suddenly, the light reflecting off of a blade caked in drying blood.

"Forgive me, Father," the shadow purred. "For I have sinned."

There was a flash of movement and Father Antonio felt a searing pain in his chest. Before he new what was happening, Magdalena had hurled him in the opposite direction of the police cars. Father Antonio gripped his chest, staggering away from the monster.

"I've sliced you open just to the right of your heart," Magdalena stated casually, following him. "I won't pretend there's any reason for selling all those children into slavery, but I am curious about Sister Assunta." Before this day, Father Antonio had never heard Magdalena speak more than a few bumbling words of Spanish. Now the language tripped off of her tongue as if she had spoken it her whole life.

"What-what about her?" Father Antonio choked, pressing his hands over his wound.

"Why did you have to attack her? I know she was meant to die; it was only God's grace that she lived at all. Was it because she found out who was behind everything?" Father Antonio hesitated, weaving unsteadily. Magdalena's knife flashed again. The priest let out a strangled cry of pain.

"I've laid you open just below your heart. Now answer me before you die! Did Sister Assunta find out?" The turtle woman demanded. Father Antonio hit his knees, curling protectively around his chest.

"N-no," he gurgled weakly. "She kept protecting you . . . she wouldn't let us get rid of you. She knew you'd always protect the children."

"I see," Magdalena said stiffly. "She was—she is my friend. Was it really necessary to gang rape her?"

"Th-the boys said . . ." Father Antonio paused to spit out a mouthful of blood. "A-a beautiful nun was a terrible waste." Quick as a flash, Magdalena grabbed the priest by the hair, forced his head up and struck again.

"I've cut you just to the left of your heart. Do you know what I'm doing?" Despite radiating righteous anger, Magdalena's voice was cool and collected. Father Antonio stared up at the green-skinned creature in terror.

"You-you're cutting my heart out."

"You tore out the hearts of all those you betrayed. I want yours now." The knife fell again. Suddenly, a spotlight illuminated the dim alleyway.

"Freeze, this is the Cartegena Po—lice?" The cry started off commanding and proud and ended up confused. The end of the alleyway was filled with Cartegena PD's Riot Squad. Behind the lines, a news cameraman clambered halfway up a fire escape to get a better view. Magdalena was crouched over the dying priest, one hand pressed to his chest. The humans were frozen for a moment before one clear-headed sergeant cocked his rifle and leveled it at the turtle hybrid.

"Put your hands in the air!" Magdalena hesitated, and then gave a firm jerk on Father Antonio's chest before complying with the order. When she raised her hands, the priest's heart was in her right hand. There were a few gasps from the police officers. Magdalena took the opportunity and turned for a mad dash into the shadows. The quick-thinking sergeant fired one shot. The turtle woman's shell deflected it from being a kill shot. Instead, the bullet richotted off of her carapace and tore through her left arm. Even this didn't stop her headlong flight and she dived into the safety of darkness. The riot police followed quickly, cameraman into tow. By the time they chased the shadows away with their spotlight, Magdalena was gone.

"This was the scene in Cartegena, Columbia early this morning. Riot police were called in to quell what was believed to be a firefight between two rival crime cartels. Upon arriving on the scene, police discovered no less that twelve cargo containers filled with young women and girls bound for the slave trade. The thirty-four armed men guarding them had all been brutally murdered." The news anchor announced calmly. Master Splinter, Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, Makai, Pele, and the three humans watched the news in horror. "One of the police officers involved had this to say:" The scene switched to a tired looking police officer giving his views in Spanish. An English translation quickly drowned out his voice.

"When we first entered the warehouse, we saw that all the men were dead. They all had automatic rifles and military-grade weapons, but that is not what frightened us. When we had a chance to inspect the bodies, none of them had been shot. They had all been killed with a knife. Thirty-four men armed with guns and someone had killed them all with a simple hunting knife. That is when we became frightened." The scene switched again, showing Lilith caught in the spotlight, covered in blood with a bloody piece of flesh in her hand.

"This shot clearly shows the perpetrator in the act of finishing off the last victim, a fifty-four year old Catholic priest." Lilith turned and ran for the shadows, jerking as she took the shot through the arm. "The camera was clear enough to show that the non-human creature had certain characteristics reminiscent of turtles or tortoises. Similar creatures have been reported in Beijing, China, Hawaii and New York City in the United States. Since the Triceraton invasion, authorities are much more likely to take incidents such as these seriously. If you do come across creatures like these, treat them as extremely hostile. Report them to local authorities immediately. Now, in other news . . ." Carol switched off the TV. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Oh _shit_." Pele muttered. The curse word was slightly muffled; she had both hands pressed over her mouth in shock.

"Language, Pele," Splinter said, without much conviction.

"This is bad," Donnie said, suddenly stone cold sober. The secret of their existence exposed to the world did the work of five cups of coffee and a good night's sleep. "This is very bad."

"_Shit_."

"We can't go home now," Mikey stated sadly. "What're we going to do?" There was another pause.

"_Shit._"

"We have to warn Raphael. And then we're going to catch Lilith before she does any more damage," Leonardo said firmly. "Can I use your phone?"

Raphael, infamous throughout the multiverse for his ferocity and fighting skills, dangled a purple monkey toy over his daughters while making high-pitched squeaking noises. All three were laughing delightedly. Sapphire and Emerald were even making a few wobbly grabs for the monkey's arms and legs. Maggie came into the room with three bottles.

"All right, you little monsters can try chewing on these nipples since you like the sensation so much." Maggie said, sitting down beside Raphael. "I can do two at once, so pick your gem."

"'Kay . . . I'll take Sapphire this time." Raphael picked up the blue-bowed babe and popped the bottle in her mouth. Sapphie's face lit up and she started sucking away. If there was one thing the Jewels did without fuss or trouble, it was eat.

"Eat up, punkin. Give your Mommy's nipples a break." Raph grinned lecherously at Maggie. "It leaves more for me."

"Saucy bastard," Maggie said affectionately, leaning in to kiss him. The phone jangled for attention.

"Crud. That could be my bros." Raphael rose and started towards the door in one smooth movement. Still cradling Sapphire to his plastron, Raph tucked the end of her bottle under his chin to hold it in place and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Raphael!" Raph grinned.

"Hey, Leo! I come home and you guys are all gone! What's up with that!" Sapphire wriggled, trying to get a better angle on her bottle. "You are not gonna believe what happened to me! Guess what I'm holding right now!"

"Raphael! This is important!" Leo snapped, his mood too dark to notice that not only was Raphael pleasant, he was downright chipper.

"So's this! Go on; guess! You'll never guess in a million years!"

"I don't care!" Leo yelled.

"Yes you do, you just don't know it yet! Want a hint?" Raph asked, turning his head to trap the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could hold Sapphire's bottle

"Raph, you have to leave the city!" Leo said, exasperated. Raphael paused, frowning slightly.

"I just got home. What's wrong?"

"Are you watching the news?" Leo asked, glad they had finally gotten past Raph's super-happy surprise. The macho bonehead had probably gotten a new motorcycle or something.

"No. Why? What's happening?"

"Raph, we've been exposed. Lilith surfaced in South America and got caught on the evening news killing a priest. CNN's picked up the story and has identified New York as a city where 'similar creatures' have been seen. You have to leave the city for a while." Raphael stared down at the innocent baby in his arms, his eyes slowly going wider with horror. He had just gotten Maggie and the Jewels safe; he couldn't run out again. The babies needed somewhere safe to grow. He couldn't run off to wherever the guys were now.

"Leo, I-I can't travel now," Raph stammered, feeling lost. What was he going to do? He had to protect his daughters.

"Can you get to Northampton?" Leo asked, his voice steady and calm.

"Uh--," He'd have to call Casey, maybe get him to hire a trailer to carry the crib and changing table April had brought down. "Yeah, I think I can get there."

"Go to the farm and lay low. We're going after Lilith. We'll come back there after this is all over. Okay?"

"Okay." Leo paused. It did strike him that Raphael was being awfully reasonable about all of this, but he didn't feel like pushing his luck. "I've got to go; I'll call you the next time I get the chance. Bye."

"Bye." Raph started to lower the phone when he looked back at the baby in his arms. "Wait! Leo, I'm a father!" He cried. The dial tone was his only answer. "Damn it! Raph tossed down the phone and headed back to his bedroom.

"Maggie! We have to go!"

"Here you go, Leonardo. You seem to be the brains of this little operation, so we made you a diplomat," Tim announced, handing Leo a dark blue passport and an ID card.

"Ah . . . thanks," Leo sighed, looking forlornly at the two documents that confirmed his existence. In the room behind him, Master Splinter was getting his picture taken for his own set of identification.

"You know, 'seething with rage' isn't really the look we're going for," Carol told him. Leo paused. Pele was sitting off in the corner, her own ID card and passport beside her. She looked absolutely miserable. Leonardo sat down beside her.

"I feel kind of stupid asking what's wrong," he admitted. "But what in particular is bothering you?" Pele gave a hesitant, one-shoulder shrug that meant she didn't want to talk about it.

"Did you get ahold of Raphael?" She asked.

"Yeah. He's fine. He was . . . . acting a little weird, but he's all right." Leo said. "So what's bothering you?" Pele gave him a dark look for not letting himself be distracted, then looked down at the floor.

"I asked you once if you were afraid of humans. You said you were," Pele reminded him in a near whisper.

"I remember."

"I'm _scared_, Leo." Leonardo leaned in and put his arms around the small turtle, tucking her head under his chin.

"I know. Don't worry; whatever happens, we'll be together." Unseen by the young leader, Pele smiled, blushing slightly. "We'll all handle it together, as family." Leo reiterated. Pele's smile faded for a moment as she realized the statement wasn't quite as romantic as she'd first thought. Then she pulled back slightly and smiled at Leonardo again. Mr. Waterson came back in the room.

"Let's move it, people! We want to catch the tide if we're going to sail all the way to Cartegena!"

"He's right; let's go, guys!" Leo said, standing. He started to round up the Mutants so they could sneak onto Mr. Waterson's sloop unseen. Pele watched him go a bit sadly, then looked down at the blue diplomatic passport sitting next to her.

"You'll always be your brothers' keeper, won't you?"


End file.
